The Preditorial Page

by Lee, Amanda M.

  “You’re just worried they’re going to think you did it,” Eliot laughed.

  “That’s what Tad told Jake.”

  Eliot was quiet for a second. “Did you eavesdrop on Tad’s interview with Farrell?”

  “No,” I said. “I was just walking by the room and I accidentally heard them talking.”

  “That’s eavesdropping.”

  “No, it’s an accident,” I argued. “And that will probably stand up in court.”

  “Did you let Jake know you accidentally overheard his conversation with Ludington?” Eliot asked.

  “Of course not,” I scoffed. “I hid around the corner so he couldn’t see me.”

  “That’s my girl,” Eliot chuckled.

  “So, how long are you going to be at work?” I asked him.

  “Until about six or so,” Eliot said. “I was thinking I would pick up dinner on the way to your house.”

  “You don’t want to cook?”

  “Not particularly. What are you hungry for?”

  “How about some Middle Eastern?”

  “That sounds good,” he said. “You want the beef ghallaba and fattoush?”

  “I’m fairly predictable when it comes to food, aren’t I?”

  “You’re just set in your ways,” Eliot replied fondly.

  “I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  I FILED my story around 5:30 p.m., taking the time to call Fish and make sure everything had worked out all right for the end product.

  “Bill got a full sidebar of reacts,” Fish said. “Everyone was going on and on about what a great guy he is.”

  “Did you expect anyone to tell the truth?”

  “No. It doesn’t make you look like a good person if you admit what a jerk the guy in the hospital fighting for his life is,” Fish admitted.

  “He’s not fighting for his life,” I countered. “He was already up and talking like two hours after the accident.”

  “The hospital is still calling his condition guarded,” Fish pointed out.

  “What are they supposed to say? He’s fine but whiny?”

  Fish laughed. “I guess you have a point.”

  A rumble of thunder split the momentary silence. “Oh, it sounds like we’re going to get a storm.”

  “Yeah, it’s starting to light up here,” Fish agreed. “It’s pretty dark outside.”

  “It’s getting darker earlier and earlier every day,” I agreed.

  “Well, um, good job,” Fish said gruffly.

  “Thanks,” I replied, the compliment making us both uncomfortable.

  After disconnecting, I made my way over to the big bay window in the dining room and parted the curtains so I could get a look outside. I jumped slightly when a big bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, followed almost immediately by a huge peal of thunder.

  I love a good storm -- as long as it doesn’t knock out the power. That’s just a real bummer.

  I made myself comfortable on the couch and flipped on the television. Eliot was still about a half hour out, so I figured it was a good time to play some DC Lego while I could.

  Instead of jumping into an actual level, I opted to run around Gotham doing cleanup instead. They were small tasks, and I had a limited window to play.

  I was having a good time playing around with the Riddler on the roof of Wayne Tower when the power flickered. I glanced up at the ceiling fan as the lights flickered again. Crap.

  I saved the game and shut off the console. There was no sense playing if I was going to lose all forward progress. I was setting the controller on the console in the media center when the power completely winked out.

  Great.

  I banged my shin on the coffee table as I tried to shuffle through the living room. It wasn’t completely black, but it was close. I felt my way around the table, dropping to my knees and opening a drawer to find a lighter. I felt my way along the top of the table until I found a candle and then flicked the lighter.

  It didn’t do a lot to help, but it did give me something to focus on. I started looking around for my phone. If the power was going to be out for the remainder of the night it would be easier to stay at Eliot’s place.

  I ran my hands over the couch since that was the last place I remember seeing the phone. I could practically hear Eliot in my head telling me that this wouldn’t have happened if I had put the phone in the charger where it was supposed to be.

  As I felt around, I glanced out the small window in my living room and frowned. The house across the street showed lights in the windows. I abandoned my search for the phone and walked to the front door, flipping the deadbolt and swinging it open to get a better look.

  The rain was coming down in a torrent, and the lighting and thunder were frequent and furious.

  On first glance, all the houses on the opposite side of the road appeared to have power except for one. I could see the stoners who lived directly across from me sitting in their living room passing a joint amongst themselves in front of their picture window. They really need to buy some curtains -- or brains.

  I swung my gaze to the right and saw that the lights were still on there as well. To the left? The white trash revolution was having something akin to a party in their living room. That meant mine was the only house on the street that had lost power. That could be a coincidence, right?

  I took a step back into the living room and was about to shut the door when I heard a sound at the back of the house -- like the back door swinging open. Had I locked it? Probably not. I was expecting Eliot, after all.

  I remained standing where I was, listening. It was hard to see over the flicker of the candle, but I was almost positive that I could see a small beam of light --a flashlight -- swiveling through the open expanse that led to the kitchen and beyond. Whoever it was was still in the laundry room.

  For a second I steadied myself with the thought that it was Eliot. That didn’t make much sense, though, the more I thought about it. Eliot would have no idea that the power was out and he didn’t usually wander around with a flashlight on his keychain.

  Oh, and there was that pesky fact that his truck wasn’t in my driveway or on the street in front of my house.

  Crap.

  I stepped out the front door, pulling it shut behind me. The rain was cold and wet -- it was fall, after all and I wasn’t wearing shoes. Of course, I had a hundred pairs of shoes and, because Eliot kept drilling it into my head that shoes belonged in the laundry room, I had none lying around when I really needed them. I wasn’t going to let him forget this.

  I descended the steps of my front porch, my socks instantly getting soaked the minute they touched the lawn. I couldn’t do anything about that now.

  I had a choice, I could run to a neighbors’ house and have them call the police or I could circle the house and see whether I could get a glimpse of who was inside.

  I was going to make the smart choice this time, I told myself. I started moving to the house on my right -- I can’t stand the people who live on my left -- but I suddenly veered into my own yard and hugged the fence that separated our property as I moved along.

  One thing you should learn about me: I have a keen survival instinct but it’s often overruled by my curiosity.

  Yeah. I’m an idiot.

  My shoulder-length blond hair was drenched and clinging to my neck and face. I pushed it out of my eyes irritably, positioning myself directly beneath the bay window I had been looking out a few minutes before.

  I could see a light swinging from wall to wall inside the house but I didn’t see the figure associated with it until I saw movement at the curtains. A hand pulled one of the panels to the side and I could see a solid mass standing in the window.

  I froze. I had no idea where the figure was looking or if he – the size could only be a male -- had spotted me. I figured it was best to remain still.

  After a few seconds the curtains swung closed again and I expelled a s
haky breath. Now what? I had no idea which direction the figure had moved. Because of the way my windows are set up, I only have a small “moon” window on the one wall in the living room. Because of the candle I’d left flickering in the living room, the window wasn’t big enough to tell me whether there was another light there to alert me to his presence.

  If I went back to the front lawn and the intruder was standing on the porch he might be able to cut me off before I could make it to the neighbor’s yard or the street because of the fence that separates our yards. If I went in the opposite direction, through the back yard, I would almost certainly be cut off if the intruder exited the house through the back door. If I could get behind the garage, though, I would have a better view of the yard, and there was no fence separating me from that yard.

  I made the decision on impulse and sprinted to the back of the house. I pressed myself against the back wall and listened, but with the downpour and continuous thunder differentiating sounds wasn’t exactly easy.

  I sprinted from the back of the house in a straight line to my detached garage. I stopped at the corner long enough to see whether the back door was propped open, but it was closed.

  I slipped behind the garage and moved the entire width of it, stopping at the other end where the neighbors’ lilac bush offered me a modicum of cover. I angled my body so I could get a clear view of the back of the house, the driveway and the front yard just beyond. I couldn’t see the front porch, but if the intruder climbed down the steps I would be able to see him.

  I waited.

  The back door of my neighbors’ house -- the ones I can’t stand -- was only about fifty feet away. I could make it safely if I ran. I didn’t, though. Fear kept me rooted to my spot.

  I saw a flash of headlights in the rain and my heart leapt to my throat. It was hard to make out the vehicle until it passed the nearest streetlight and that’s when I recognized Eliot’s truck. He parked in front of the house and, because of the big tree on the corner of my lot, I lost sight of him.

  I broke from my hiding spot and took five long strides forward. I was out in the open and, when I glanced to the back of my house, I saw a dark figure advancing on me. He was just a big black shape, though. I couldn’t distinguish features with the hoodie pulled over his head.

  I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came.

  I tried to force my legs to move, but it was as though I was glued to my spot.

  The figure was closing the distance between us quickly. Thirty feet. Twenty feet. Fifteen feet.

  Finally, something tore loose inside of me and I ran. They say the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. If I tried to get to Eliot via a straight line, though, I would be purposely heading in the intruder’s direction.

  Instead, I raced through my neighbors’ back yard and along the side of their house, not stopping until I hit their front yard. I could hear them arguing inside -- apparently one of the brothers had stolen the other’s watch and sold it on eBay for money to buy a case of beer. Yup, and that’s why I hate them.

  I peered into the darkness, hoping for a glimpse of Eliot. Unfortunately, the only other thing I saw moving was the dark figure from my house. He had made his way up to the edge of my driveway and was watching me as I made my decision.

  If I raced toward Eliot, I would be taking the intruder with me. If I screamed, I would be bringing every person on the block outside to witness a royal ass kicking -- at least that’s what I hoped. So I screamed loud and hard.

  The sound drew Eliot from the shadows and out into the light. I could tell he was searching for the direction the scream had emanated from. I moved toward the road. The figure, which had been there only seconds before, was gone.

  I had no idea where he was. I just knew I had to get to Eliot. I raced through the dark until I was on him. I threw my arms around his neck in all my dripping glory. He tightened his arms around me instinctively. “What is it?”

  “There’s someone here,” I gasped. “There’s someone here.”

  Twenty-Eight

  “She’s still asleep.”

  I woke to the sound of Eliot’s voice. He was sitting at the end of the bed -- we had spent the night at his apartment -- talking on his cellphone in a low voice.

  I wiped the sleep from my eyes and propped myself up to listen to the rest of Eliot’s conversation.

  “She told the police everything she knew last night.”

  Eliot’s bedroom had mirrored closet doors and, when I caught a glimpse of myself in them, I inwardly cringed. Sleeping on wet hair is never a good idea, ladies. My hair was one big snarl.

  “I’m not pressing her on it,” Eliot continued. “Because I said so. She had a hard enough night.”

  “I’m awake,” I informed him.

  Eliot didn’t turn around. He rested a hand on my foot in a comforting manner, though, and continued his conversation. “What else did you find out?”

  Another pause.

  “Is it fixed now? Well, that at least is something.”

  I sat up in the bed and ran my hand through my hair. Since it got stuck each time, though, I gave up. The only thing that was going to help this mess was about a gallon of conditioner and a rake.

  “No, she’s not going back to that house until this is solved,” Eliot said.

  Excuse me? When was that decision made?

  “I don’t care how much she screams about that video game. It’s just going to have to wait. Okay. Keep me informed.”

  Eliot disconnected and turned to me. He couldn’t keep the smile from his face when he caught sight of my hair. “Nice.”

  “Who was that?”

  “Jake.”

  “What did he want?”

  “To make sure you were okay,” Eliot answered, moving from the edge of the bed and standing. It’s so unfair, there he was in nothing but his boxer shorts and he looked even better than he had when we went to bed. Why didn’t his wet hair create the ultimate bedhead, too?

  “Did he say anything else?”

  “Just that your power was severed at the pole,” Eliot said grimly.

  “How would someone even know how to do that?”

  Eliot shrugged. “I’m not sure. You have an older house, though, and it’s easy to see which line leads to it. It probably wasn’t that hard.”

  “Did Jake say how long I would be without power?”

  “He already placed a call,” Eliot said. “It’s fixed.”

  “So I can go home tonight?” I was testing him.

  “You’re not going home until we catch this guy,” Eliot replied.

  “We don’t know it was the killer,” I said.

  Eliot rubbed his hands together, trying to remain calm. “Really? Who do you think it was?”

  “Maybe it was Tad’s wife,” I suggested. “She might believe his crap about me being the one to run him off the road.”

  “Doesn’t she have like five kids under the age of six?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You think she left them in the car while she climbed a power pole, severed your power, and then stalked you through the house and yard?”

  I hate it when he’s logical.

  “So now what?”

  Eliot shrugged. “Now you stay here until this is solved.”

  “Come back from La-La Land,” I said. “Last night was … traumatizing. It’s not the end of the world, though.”

  “It felt like the end of the world when I heard you scream in the middle of a storm when a knife-happy killer is running around killing blondes,” Eliot said, his tone flat but his eyes fiery.

  “We’re going to have to come to a compromise here.”

  Eliot raised an eyebrow. “A negotiation? Good. What are you going to give me?”

  “I’m going to agree to stay here.”

  Eliot looked dubious.

  “If you go and get my X-Box and that game,” I added.

  Eliot sighed. “Fine. What else do you want?”

  “
Just a little breathing room,” I said. “I can’t function if you’re watching me like a hawk. I promise to be careful and keep you updated on what I’m doing and where I am, but you can’t go with me everywhere.”

  “Says who?”

  “Me.”

  Eliot shook his head. I tried a different tactic.

  “Fish isn’t going to let you hang around the newsroom watching me.”

  “I bet he will if I promise to upgrade his security system for free,” Eliot countered.

  Crap. Fish does love free stuff.

  “Eliot,” I warned.

  “Fine,” he said. “But no wandering around doing stupid crap alone.”

  “Fine.”

  “No speed dating.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think you have to worry about that.”

  “Okay,” Eliot blew out a sigh. “Let’s give it a try.”

  I moved toward him with the intention of kissing him but he held up a hand. “I can’t make out with you until you shower.”

  “What? Do I smell or something?” I wrinkled my nose.

  “No,” Eliot said. “You just look ridiculous with that hair.”

  TWO HOURS later Eliot dropped me at the office with a promise to pick my car up at the house and leave it in the parking lot so I would have something to drive in the afternoon.

  “That’s not necessary,” I said. “We can do it later.”

  “I have to pick up that video game anyway -- and make sure the house is locked up. You want me to grab you some clothes?”

  I was starting to chafe under his overbearing attitude, but since it had been only a few hours I tried to push it out of my mind.

  When I got to the office, Fish greeted me with a surprised smile. “What are you doing here?”

  “I work here.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” he said. “I heard what happened last night and figured you’d be taking the day off.”

  “I’m fine,” I waved off his concerns.

  “There’s nothing going on with the Clinton River Killer case,” Fish said. Who named it that, by the way? That’s why people hate the media. “And I’ve turned the Ludington thing over to Marvin.”